


getting lost just to sea you

by shadhahvar



Series: Yuri!!! On Crackfic [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Space, Islands, M/M, Stranded, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14302230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: Post grav-skating Grand Prix Final, Phichit Chulanont and Christophe Giacometti find themselves stranded together on a well-stocked floating island.





	getting lost just to sea you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [topcatnikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/topcatnikki/gifts).



> Thank you to both [CreativeSweets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeSweets) and [izzyisozaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki) for beta-reading this short! Please check out their works and give them both a read!
> 
> This is my first attempt at doing a soulmate au with the intention of using anything like a soulmate trope. So, of course, you get this. Alien science!!! This story is dedicated to Nikki for all the sunshine and rainbows she and hers should have winding their way into her life. ❤ May the sunshine boy Phichit help bring in some of that lovely energy to you!

Statistically speaking, soulmates were somewhere in the universe for everyone. Phichit always wondered who thought up the whole idea of soulmates, and how it’d been integrated into everyday life. What statistics looked at successful relationships between people with high soulmatch percentages versus successful relationships between those with low soulmatch percentages? In his utter lack of research, he presumed there really were none. People were people, and relationships flourished or foundered all on their own, no matter their match percentage.

Still, he’d been outfitted with his soulmatch anklet just like everyone else. How strange it was to realise in this day and age that humanity lived in a symbiotic relationship with an alien species that literally helped them find happiness in the most bizarre way possible. 

By living with a host human since birth, soulmatchers aligned to their biochemical and neurological signals. They were a species with their own unique telepathy, one that allowed for a level of empathy with their host humans. Feeding on and sustained by their hosts, they in turn monitored health levels, reported those concerns, and also acted as a calming force when necessary. 

People were living longer lives with their soulmatch anklets, but it wasn’t the symbiotic relationship that earned them their name. It was a secondary function discovered later on in their relationship with humanity that earned them the colloquial name now in common use.

Soulmatch anklets harmonized with each other and underwent photochemical reactions to reflect the compatibility of their host humans. Romantic, platonic, antagonistic, or any number of things could be indicated by where anklets colour synched to in close proximity. The higher-visible spectrum usually indicated greater physical or emotional compatibility; mid-visible spectrum usually indicated strong friendship and family potentials; low visible spectrum meant low compatibility, indifference, and in some cases, empathetic disconnect. It also meant the highest and lowest visibilities in the human spectrum looked the same, both processing as _black_.

Which wasn’t the point of his thoughts right then. No, the point of his thoughts had more to do with a sense of amusement over how they all walked around with compatibility mood anklets, and how this was entirely normal. Not entirely _accurate_ , but normal. It was standardly accepted that people could have greater success in personal relationships by synching their soulmatch anklets and seeing if they had a head up in the whole soulmate gamble.

Did it prevent people from being hurt and having communication issues and fights and all the downs as well as the ups? Not in his personal experience, nor the experiences of those he knew. High soulmatch percentages didn’t make for perfect relationships. People were people. 

He rather loved that fact, though right now, he also wished he knew more about what end of the spectrum his soulmatch anklet might read, given his present circumstances.

Phichit sighed, flopping back against the soft mat of beach-grass at his back. This trip out to the floating islands of Yswd was the reward for all participants in the grav-field skating Grand Prix in their portion of the Association of Sapient Species. They were getting an all expense paid one week drifting vacation on fully stocked islands, linked by woven bridges and geared with breathing apparati to spend time in the water and meet the odd looking sealophins: a native species of highly inquisitive animals that looked like a cross between a false killer whale from old Earth archives and a leopard seal from the same archives.

Phichit had his camera and his satellite booster in place, ready to livestream back to his social media accounts after meeting the sealophins and after any and everything else he encountered along the way. Then the tropical storm blew in, all the bridges were destroyed, and Phichit was stranded on an island floating off course and out of sight of the ones containing his best friend, his other good skating friends, and also all his social media equipment. 

All this was grossly unfair, but it wasn’t entirely _terrible_ when the one person he had been stranded with for company was charming, appreciably good humoured, and attractive. What did make matters worse was how in a fit of boredom on the second evening they synched their soulmate anklets and watched them turn _jet black_.

Considering that was just last night, Phichit didn’t know which extreme of the spectrum that meant. Compatibility was a two way connection, but for all Phichit felt positives _toward_ Christophe Giacometti, it was entirely possible Christophe didn’t have any similar chemistry in return. Not the end of the world, but Phichit admitted he’d have preferred at least being _friends_ with his fellow grav-skater. 

Chris had been accommodating and largely inclined to sunbathe and go for swims, debate over music choices, and then dress up like they had anyplace to actually go before sitting down and spending the evening with his feet drifting in the wake of their floating island. They both figured they’d be picked up at the week’s end, like originally planned. 

Really, everything was great.

Which was why he was out cloud gazing with his eyes closed, bereft of all cameras and social media connections. He absolutely wasn’t frowning. He absolutely wasn’t humming one of his favourite songs from his favourite classic film under his breath, and he could not possibly be bored, or vaguely upset, or in general even grumpy. He wasn’t. This was just _peachy_.

“Credit for your thoughts?”

Phichit’s eyes flew open, staring up at the face leaning over his. Chris had ridiculously beautiful green eyes and naturally long, dark lashes, giving him a misleadingly innocent look when he wanted. Most often Chris wanted nothing of the sort, but in that moment, he didn’t look sly, or coy, or even sensual. He looked curious.

“Two credits,” Phichit said, holding up his fingers in a v-sign. 

Chris’s lips twitched up into an amused grin. With a slow blink of his beautiful lashes, he inclined his head to Phichit, straightening up and holding out two fingers in return. “You drive a hard bargain. Two credits, then.”

Phichit smiled, rolling over onto his stomach. “I was thinking about dancing.”

“Oh?” Chris quirked an eyebrow, resting his hand on his cocked hip. “What kind?”

Phichit bent his knees, bringing his feet up into the air behind him. “The best kind ever performed, basically.”

Chris canted his head to the side. “Does it have anything to do with poles?”

“What?” Phichit’s feet stopped kicking, his release of pent up energy coming to a temporary standstill. He started laughing a moment after, twisting around to roll on his side. “Oh, no! Not even close! Are you telling me you can pole dance, Chris?” Phichit craned his head back to look toward Chris again, grinning. His amusement was easy to read. “How scandalous! So dirty!”

Chris chuckled, miming a pout and fluttering his eyelashes at Phichit. “I’m hurt, Phichit.” Chris lifted a hand, placing it over his heart. He peered at Phichit through his lashes as he continued talking. “Here I was hoping to demonstrate for you, and instead, you’re calling me a scandalous, dirty man. How will I ever recover?”

Phichit considered him for a moment, weighing Chris’s general flirting demeanour against the pitch black of their soulmatch anklets. Did it really matter? He could flirt back when it went nowhere as easily as when it went somewhere. He had nothing better to do, as long as Chris was offering to be social.

Phichit smiled, looking up at Chris through his own lashes. “By dancing with me.” He pushed up to his feet, bouncing up and holding out his hand, irrepressible. This was his life. He planned on living it as fully as possible, every day, regardless of piddly details outside his control.

Chris’s smile was difficult to read, his movements almost feline as he stepped forward. He took Phichit’s hand, lifting it and brushing his lips over Phichit’s knuckles with a wink. “I’m in your hands.”

Phichit grinned wider, flashing teeth and laughing as he pulled Chris in close. “Follow my lead, we’ll be fine!”

The waltzing section of _The King and the Skater_ had always been his favourite, an off-ice training session that was interrupted in film by the ongoing events, but not before a beautiful dance and song sequence. He hummed the melody with a close-lipped smile, eyes twinkling with good humour as he lead Chris into the waltz. Chris proved a responsive dancer, light on his feet and only fighting Phichit for the lead a handful of times before settling into his rhythm. They both laughed, Phichit breaking off his humming as they whirled around to the music of a song he heard loudest beating alongside his heart.

It was slower than he remembered, or else time dilation had taken firm hold as he tried to keep the both of them from tripping over exposed roots as they spun under the speckled sunlight. Cuing Chris for a jumping lift, Phichit planted his hands on Chris’s waist and swung him high and around, nearly crashing into his chest once he set him down. Chris caught him up in a spinning lift himself, both of them laughing as their dancing went from following a form and choreography Phichit knew to an evolving masterpiece of the moment.

He felt light and dizzy and stupidly happy all at once, enjoying the movement and his company and the press of Chris’s hand in his own. He smelled like salt and sweat and musk, no doubt like Phichit did, too. He loved that, like he loved the heady scent of vegetation and the scent of natural decay blowing in off the water. 

They danced for forever; that’s what it felt like, laughing and stumbling and finally collapsing bonelessly onto the ground. They both breathed hard, Phichit’s heart pounding in his ears, blood singing through his veins. He’d had fun! He felt like Chris had too, from the flush on his cheeks and the sweat visible on his skin. Phichit wanted to reach out and brush Chris’s mop of half-bleached hair off his forehead. His fingers twitched, but he kept his hand at his side, smiling and prompting Chris into smiling back.

“What dance was that again?” Chris asked once he caught his breath.

“Modern reinterpretation of a classic from _The King and the Skater!”_

“Is that a holoplay?”

Phichit gasped and rolled over, fixing Chris with a wide-eyed stare of mock shocked outrage. “It’s a _movie_. Probably the best one ever made! There’s time travel, action, adventure, card games, all the best elements you could ask for!”

“What about romance?” Chris turned his face toward Phichit, quirking his eyebrows.

“That, too,” Phichit said, giving him a solemn nod. “The old fashioned kind.”

There was a humming sound of acknowledgement, a sort of tension that held between them in the air. Chris propped himself up on an elbow, head resting in his hand. He smiled, studying Phichit’s face, searching for something. Phichit took the chance to observe him openly in return, studying the planes of his face, the curve of his cheek, the corner of his mouth as it quirked in a smaller, relaxed smile.

Chris blinked, long and slow. His gaze dropped down to studying Phichit’s lips; Phichit breathed in shallowly, waiting.

Chris didn’t leave him waiting for long.

“Would you object to me kissing you?” Chris winked, lips twitching into an amused smile as he went on. “I have it on good authority I’m a _very_ good kisser.”

Phichit attempted not to let his smile show immediately, knowing he failed. He breathed out in a laugh, grinning at Chris. “Whose good authority?”

“Oh, you know. Someone’s.”

Phichit scooted closer, tapping a finger on the end of Chris’s nose. “Mm, I prefer coming to my own conclusions.”

“I’d love to help with that too—” Chris’s flirtation was cut off as Phichit pressed their lips together, sweet and soft and searching. The angle was awkward, straining Phichit’s neck and grinding his elbow into the plants beneath them. Chris seemed to share that opinion, because as Phichit pulled away, Chris curled his free hand around the back of Phichit’s neck and tugged him down as Chris rolled onto his back.

Dimly, in the back of Phichit’s mind, beyond the thrill and crash of sensation and heat from above and below him as he found himself straddling Chris and leaning down to explore his mouth with his lips and tongue, he remembered the jet black of their soulmatch anklets. He had his answer, he supposed, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside so Chris’s wandering hands could skate over his bare skin. It hadn’t been the black of incompatibility.

Or in _cum_ patibility Chris joked later, chuckling against the skin of Phichit’s neck as they lay in a tangle, hot and spent and boneless in their post-orgasmic haze. 

Phichit snorted, feigning a gasp a moment after. “Chris!” he said, trying not to squirm away in unexpected ticklishness from Chris’s stubble scraping against his neck. “So scandalous!”

“Darling, I haven’t come close to showing you _scandalous_ yet. But if you’re curious…”

“If you’re _offering_ …” Phichit grinned, using the excuse to pull his head away from Chris’s ticklish stubble. 

Chris’s eyes sparkled with amusement and an undeniable heat, smoldering in a way that made the word _smoldering_ finally make sense to Phichit. He loved the shiver it sent down his spine, intensified by the gravely tone of Chris’s voice when he spoke.

“Oh, it’s not an offer. It’s a promise.”

 _Oh_.

It was going to be lovely waiting for when their inevitable rescue would arrive. They’d just have to make sure not to come too soon, Chris teased, and Phichit nipped at his ear.

“Same for you,” he said before squirming away with a cackling laugh, Chris not far behind as he raced for the water.

“Says the man who came first!”

“Here _and_ on the first podium we shared!”

“Touché.” 

“Now get on over here and _touché_ me again—”

“That doesn’t even sound like anything close to touching!” Chris laughed, almost caught up.

Phichit laughed as he took a running leap off the shore into the warm waters beyond. “I know!”

It simply left Chris to demonstrate all the various ways he enjoyed getting _touchy_ with Phichit, and Phichit happily got just as touchy in return.

And oh, did he ensure that he wasn’t always the one to finish _first_.


End file.
